


Talk Through the Wall all You Want, it's Your Face that Will Bring me to my Knees.

by SinfullyPresent



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 2011 flat, Angst, Bottom Harry, Break Up, Drunk Texting, Happy Ending, LILAC SWEATER HARRY, Louis and Harry - Freeform, M/M, No Smut, Oneshot, a little bit angsty?, anne as well, brief mention of gemma - Freeform, depends on how you take it, enjoy?, i think it's happy, im a slut for that sweater, it brings me joy in this sad life i live, just a mention of L fucking H, just barely, larry - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform, lilac harry, lilac sweater, little bit of fetus mention, my absolute favorite, sort of, texting harry, texts, this is a nice one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 05:11:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5193482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinfullyPresent/pseuds/SinfullyPresent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>
    <strong>I need you to send me my sweater.</strong>
  </em>
  <br/>
  <em>
    <strong>The purple one.</strong>
  </em>
  <br/>
  <em>
    <strong>*Lilac.</strong>
  </em>
  <br/>
  <em>
    <strong>HS xx.</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p><em>It’d been so absurd that Louis had almost laughed, though it’s likely he wouldn’t have known what he was laughing at. Perhaps the fact that Harry had felt compelled to sign off with “HS” as if Louis didn’t know who the hell had texted him at three in the morning. Or maybe it would have been the fact that Harry had needed to clarify which sweater, exactly, that he needed. As if Louis didn’t stare at the damn thing all of the time, wishing for it to disappear, along with any memories he had of Harry. Or, even most likely, Louis could have laughed at Harry’s specification of the shade of purple the sweater was. Just because it was so </em>Harry<em> of him. Louis could have laughed at any of that.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Instead, he cried.</em>
</p>
<p>Or, the AU in which Harry left Louis for over a year, they've texted for five months, and the first time they speak aloud is through the wall of their first flat. A lilac sweater is kept, and many texts are exchanged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk Through the Wall all You Want, it's Your Face that Will Bring me to my Knees.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so. This is a bit of a text based oneshot, so I figure I should make some clarifications.
> 
> All of Louis' texts are in _italics._
> 
> All of Harry's texts are in **bold.**
> 
> Every new text is its own line. I personally send texts through one at a time rapid pace, so that's how I wrote this. Whoops.
> 
> Every new section starts with a text from Harry. For those first two lines, only the parts in **"bold, and quotations"** are the text. One of the starting texts is from Louis. It's in **_"Bold, italicized quotations."_**
> 
> I believe that's all. I wrote this one a bit choppy to represent how Louis' mind is working, and the fact that he's really only thinking in the way he's been texting. If it gets confusing leave me a comment and I'll clarify/fix it. Enjoy! xx.

**“I’m there too.”**

**That’s the text.**

The wall is painfully cold against his back, another startling reminder of the time this house has spent unoccupied. Louis isn’t sure why he expected otherwise, why he hadn’t expected a cold house with chilly walls and dusty corners. He’s not sure why he was expecting the home he’d left, filled to the brim with warmth, and with a fond memory tucked into every nook, every cranny crammed full of love. Louis isn’t sure why he expected that, but he did, and being sat against this frigid wall with the winter air pinching at his skin, Louis is beginning to realize he’s not ready for the wakeup call he’s receiving, no matter how many he’s had, lately.

Louis’ phone lights up in his hand, the small “Curly” written across the screen notifying him of Harry’s text.

Texts.

There’s been a lot of those lately, too. That’s all there’s been, actually. After one year and four months of nothing. No messages. No calls. No knowledge of his whereabouts. No Harry. For one year, and four months.

And then that stupid lilac sweater came about. The stupid fucking lilac sweater and four texts.

**I need you to send me my sweater.**

**The purple one.**

***Lilac.**

**HS xx.**

It’d been so absurd that Louis had almost laughed, though it’s likely he wouldn’t have known what he was laughing at. Perhaps the fact that Harry had felt compelled to sign off with “HS” as if Louis didn’t know who the hell had texted him at three in the morning. Or maybe it would have been the fact that Harry had needed to clarify which sweater, exactly, that he needed. As if Louis didn’t stare at the damn thing all of the time, wishing for it to disappear, along with any memories he had of Harry. Or, even most likely, Louis could have laughed at Harry’s specification of the shade of purple the sweater was. Just because it was so _Harry_ of him. Louis could have laughed at any of that.

Instead, he cried.

And then, after a long and hearty cry, he promptly responded:

_Fuck you._

_LT._

He made sure not to include any kisses.

Louis still isn’t too sure why they kept texting. He still isn’t sure why, after receiving Harry’s text of “ **Well, that was mean.** ” and then “ **But expected.** ” he replied with “ _Screw yourself, Harry_.” and then “ _Don’t fucking text me_.”

He isn’t sure why it’s been five months, and he isn’t sure why they’re still texting. Louis isn’t sure why he’s forgiven Harry without admitting it to either himself, or Harry, and he isn’t sure as to why he told Harry that this house was still around. Louis isn’t sure why he’s spent days and weeks and months communicating with Harry through text, and reintroducing Harry into every aspect of his life. Louis isn’t sure why, after Harry left them all this time ago, he’s still so desperately in love with him.

Louis doesn’t seem to know very much, anymore.

It hits Louis hard, then, as he presses his back up against the wall of the kitchen, that he doesn’t know anything, really, as it so often does these days. And, on instinct, he counts what he does know.

He knows he’s in a flat that he hasn’t been in since 2011. His flat. His and Harry’s flat. He knows that the table that’s covered by a tarp just a few feet away from him is small, and circular. He knows that there’s a chip in the wood near the center of the table that was caused when he dropped a bowl of soup atop it. He knows there’s a specific side of the table that’s more worn than the other side, because that’s the side where he and Harry always ate.

He also knows the other side of the table was specifically a “No Food Zone” because that’s the side he always ended up bending Harry over.

He knows that there are four spoons and two forks left in the tupperware drawer because when the two of them had moved out it’d been Louis’ job to pack up the drawers, and he didn’t have room for those last few bits.

He knew that he was meant to sell this flat as soon as he and Harry moved out, but hadn’t had the heart.

He also knows that Harry hadn’t a clue about the flat still being around, until last night when Louis had finally told him.

Over text, as was the current custom.

He doesn’t know why he told Harry, though. Has to close his eyes, has to remember it. Has to even out his panicked breathing and has to think.

***

**“I’m coming home.”**

**That’s the text.**

Louis was curled up in bed, the white comforter tucked up behind his ears and his knees held to his chest as he laid on his side.

He was on the left side of his bed.Harry’s side.

What used to be Harry’s side.

_What?_

**Yeah. Decided it was time to give mum a proper visit. Gem, too.**

**And you.**

The second text came a beat later, and Louis could picture Harry’s thumb hovering over the send button for that same beat of time before hitting send. Could picture his lip tucked in between his teeth and the furrowing of his brow.

Louis’ heart was pounding.

_When?_

**I’m at the airport now, actually.**

_Oh._

Louis wasn’t sure when he had stopped breathing, but the breath he took now was gasping, as if he hadn’t taken a one in hours.

**Which means I have to go. Security, and all that. The fun stuff.**

_Of course. Chat later. Safe flight, Haz._

**Thank you. Later, Lou. xx.**

Louis still had yet to reciprocate the kisses.

There was an unexplainable grin pasted over Louis’ lips as he locked his phone, the familiar sound of his phone shutting off filling the empty room. Louis slid the device under his pillow, already feeling the melatonin settling into his body, making his eyes droopy as he tucked more comfortably into himself.

1:17 am, and Harry was coming home.

Louis woke up to Harry’s text tone insistently going off underneath his head, and his hair flopped unavoidably in his eyes.

**Just landed in Heathrow, safe and sound. Good morning. :)**

It was 12:57 pm, too late to be waking up and the perfect time for Louis to be awaking. He struggled to type back his reply with the sleep in his eyes obstructing his view of the phone.

_Welcome back to the land of tea and the queen, mate. Don’t start acting like a tourist now that you’ve been in America for so long._

**Shut up.**

**And thank you.**

_Mm._

_Where’ll you be staying?_

Louis had sat himself up, now, slowly trying to coax himself to stand up and go have the wee he so desperately needed. Instead, he waited for Harry’s text to take the spot of the small Typing Bubble.

 **Not sure yet, actually.** **Grimmy offered me his place, and I’m considering taking it up. Bit of a drive, though.**

Nick. Louis’ favorite. (His nose had crinkled at the screen as soon as he read the man’s nickname, a small scoff leaving his lips.)

_Stay at ours._

**What?**

_Ours. Our first flat._

And now Louis had a reason to have a wee, suddenly not so eager to see the Typing Bubble disappear. So he went to the toilets, and he relieved himself, as well as shaved, and brushed his teeth.

Three texts from “Curly” were waiting for him.

**You sold it.**

**You sold it?**

**Right?**

_No._

_Didn’t have the heart._

Absolutely didn’t have the heart.

Couldn’t sell the place that had contained all of their firsts. That had contained all of the memories of their clumsy, curious selves. He’d tried, sure. But he hadn’t managed.

**Oh.**

_Yeah. Just thought I would mention, as you need a place to stay and it’s certainly closer than Nick’s._

_Also more private._

_Key’s on top of the door as always, if you’re interested._

Harry took too long in responding, and the nerves that it had given Louis had coaxed him out of bed and into the refrigerator. (A breakfast of frosties and cold pizza was put together.)

His phone dinged on the countertop, and Louis took an extra three minutes before he read it.

**That’s alright. I think I’ll go to Nick’s. With, like. Proper food and all that.**

Louis’ first thought was that Harry could just stop at a Tesco’s before he crashed for the night.

But he would also have to buy blankets for a bed that hadn’t been slept in for years, and spend his time alone in an old flat that had memories that Louis was sure he didn’t want to revisit.

So, instead of acknowledging the bitter feeling in the back of his throat at the thought of Harry seeing Nicholas Grimshaw before he saw Louis, he simply texted:

_Alright. Your choice. How was the flight?_

Talk of the flat didn’t happen again.

***

**“ill alwys love u louis . even tho u ha te me.”**

_**“I’ll never hate you, Harold. Don’t say daft things like that.”** _

**That’s the text.**

That was the one that Louis hadn’t been able to forget. The one that had carved itself into Louis’ mind in the way the words “oops” and “hi” had. That was the one that made Louis so much more terrified of this situation.

And how stupid was that?

How stupid was it that one emotional, drunk text from Harry had him so goddamned lopsided?

But there was no taking the texts back now. The drunk texts and sober emotions were forever cemented in history and Louis could only spend his time focusing on the now of his life. Not then.

Which is why Louis is returning to his phone now, quickly typing a response to Harry’s text.

**I’m there too.**

_What do you mean you’re here too?_

**I got sentimental and decided to pay it a visit.**

**Why are you here?**

And that gives Louis a pause.

That gives Louis a long pause and-

And why the fuck _is_ he here? What in the hell had possessed him to come to a house that he’d long ago left. A place that he’d packaged up and left sitting for no one to live in.

_Suppose I got a bit sentimental myself._

A beat passes with no reply.

And then.

**Holy shit.**

_What?_

**Holy shit, Louis.**

_What is it?_

**I saw you.**

_What?_

**Against the wall, you were sitting down and I saw you.**

_Well, where are you now?_

**Same wall.**

**Opposite side. Just beside the doorway into the kitchen.**

**I reckon our backs line up this way.**

And suddenly, Louis’ got tears stuck in his throat, and his jaw hurts from clenching his teeth.

“Bloody hell.”

They're the first words that Louis’ spoken since he’s stepped into the flat. They’re hoarse, filled with tears and gruff with impatience.

Those are the first words Harry’s heard Louis speak in over a year.

Harry answers.

“Are you crying?”

Louis feels shock radiate through his body, recognition instantly running through him with the sound of Harry’s familiar voice.

“What?” He asks.

“Your voice. It’s rough. Only ever hear it like that when you’re crying.”

“Well, it’s been awhile since you’ve heard me talk, hasn’t it?”

Harry laughs in response, and Louis can imagine the little smile on his lips, the twinkle in his eyes at Louis’ refusal to admit to his emotions.

“Don’t be a prick,” is his response.

Louis thinks he hasn’t heard anything more beautiful in a long time.

“This is stupid,” Louis decides aloud, his head thunking back on the wall, imagining he can feel Harry through it. The warmth of his back, the rough palm of his hand, the soft length of his curls.

“This is stupid,” Harry agrees, softly.

“We should just do it. Look at each other,” Louis speaks through the wall, his voice wafting through the doorway to find Harry.

“On three?” Harry’s voice is gentle, almost as if he doesn’t want to push Louis farther than he has to.

Louis appreciates that.

“I don’t have your sweater with me.”

Harry laughs, sharp and sudden, and Louis feels some part of his chest squeeze painfully tight at the sound.

“That’s alright, Louis. I can get it some other time.”

Louis forgets that Harry can’t see him. Nods. Then remembers and says, “On three.”

Harry starts the count, “One.”

This is the first time that Louis will see Harry in over one year and nine months. He’s suddenly incredibly nervous. He takes a moment to reply with a soft, “Two.”

Harry’s response takes forever to come. Louis counts a slow ten, his fingers playing at the edge of the doorway for a moment before he finally speaks up. “Harry?”

“Yeah.”

A sigh of relief comes from Louis’ chest. He’d almost thought that Harry had left. He might always be plagued with that fear, now.  

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Sorry. I’m just. Nervous.”

“You’re nervous,” Louis repeats back, unsure of what to say.

“I’m nervous,” Harry replies, soft and gentle. It’s easy to hear the embarrassed smile in his voice.

Louis misses him. Louis misses him so goddamn much he can suddenly feel it in his fucking chest. It's radiating through his body, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

“Harry?” he questions, voice coaxing.

“Yeah?”

“Three.”

**Author's Note:**

> All kudos and comments are much appreciated. x.


End file.
